Neighbors With Mowers
by Lorynce la Kirk
Summary: They're a different species, all tanned and blond and beautiful. At least, this is what Arthur thinks when he meets Alfred. And oh, damn him if he doesn't admit to thinking 'chitty chitty would bang' about this one. [Human AU, generally silly stuff. Human names and Inumerika. Rating may go up. US/UK/US - Hiatus]


Next Door Neighbors

by Lorynce la Kirk - Hetalia doesn't belong to me. I wouldn't be able to carry it on so if it did.  
Synopsis: It's small, it's southern, and it's full of funny-talking Americans. That's what Arthur Kirkland thinks of Dawson, Alabama. He, however, has no right to complain, because it was his choice to move there. But it's easy to complain, really, especially if your only neighbor for a good three miles is a charming young man who lends one his mower and whatever else they may need. [USUK, Human AU.]

-continue-

Arthur stared in dismay at the yard of the house that he'd just bought. "What did I expect?" He muttered to himself, parking his car in the little strip of gravel leading up to the front door. It was basically a jungle, the Brit thought, folding his arms loosely over his chest and looking over the scene.

Two acres around the house, overgrown with weeds and wildflowers, as well as the occasional thistle. Add three more acres to that- three more acres of rolling hills and a small pasture, and one had the misfortune of a summer full of weed whacking. The Englishman heaved a sigh and started toward the house, trying not to squish the star shaped flowers peeking through the pebbles.

He figured it would be better to unpack his things first, so he'd have a bed ready to collapse on at the end of the day. The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open to reveal a sunny living room, branching off into a neat kitchen at the west end, and a hall at the east. Boxes were stacked by the door, but he made a beeline toward the heap of furniture that consisted mostly of armchairs and side tables. Time to get to work!

-skip-

Finally, after a few hours of sweating, grunting and possible muscle-pulling, Arthur had finally gotten the house in order. Most of it, at least. The kitchen things still had to be unpacked, but his bedroom, bathroom and living room was a scene to behold. Greens and browns complimented the light tan of the walls, while the curtains cast coloured shadows on the floor and walls.

The sofa and armchairs were arranged fashionably at all sides of the room, giving it a home-y feel. Despite his aversion towards coffee, there was a glass coffee table in the middle of the room, already spread with a few fairytales and a small vase of the flowers he'd found growing in the bathroom window box.

He gave a little sigh, more of a 'thank goodness' thing instead of an 'oh no'. It was nice to get things into order, but now he was sure his shoulders would give him hell tomorrow. Disregarding that, he opened the door once more and stood on the top step, surveying the land around the house.  
It was a peaceful scene. The trees across the road were waving leafy branches to a tune unheard, and every so often a bird would flit into one, making Arthur laugh quietly. In the eastern side of the lot, there was a small ditch, and beyond was the little house with a fancy 'Alfred F. Jones - 627' in bold font on the mailbox.

That made him wonder, what sort of man was Mister Jones? He'd not seen even a glimpse of his to-be neighbor in past excursions to look at the house. The Briton was still for a moment, trying to imagine him. There wasn't even the faintest idea that popped into his mind, however, and he left that subject to be revealed later, whenever that was.  
There was more cleaning and setting up to be done.

-skip-

Two more hours of setting up and opening creaky windows, and he was finally finished. There were only a few boxes of junk left, and he could toss that in the attic any time. The Brit slouched into the kitchen, ready for a few glasses of lemonade and store-bought cheese sandwiches. This only made him grumble, however. Lack of cooking skill had reduced him to takeaway or relying on the offerings Honda brought aalamost every Sunday, back in New York.

After his snack was prepared, he sat down at the kitchen window and began nibbling on the edge of one sandwich. Nothing save his annoyed curses and the sounds the furniture made had broken the silence hanging around the house. It was a nice break from the honking, squealing and whizzing that was the daily drag under smoggy London skies.

It was a rumble of wheels and the happy barking of mister Jones' dog that roused him from these thoughts. He'd best greet the man. Make a good first impression. He did want an amicable attitude from his neighbor, after all.

So, brushing crumbs from his lips and lap, he headed for the door. The door was thrown open again, and he called a hearty 'hello' which almost died in his throat at the sight.

What he expected, he didn't know, again. Mister Jones was the tallish blond not lacking in glasses nor muscle, but a shirt. He wasn't wearing a shirt. Arthur cleared his throat, already at a loss for words. He almost repeated his greeting, but the other had heard and was striding over, letting his arms swing at his sides.

"Hey, neighbor! Finally get to meetcha, ey?" A hand was held out, and Arthur gave it a shake, aware of his cheeks turning a light pink. My, he had wide shoulders… They were rather appealing.

"Yes, good afternoon. It's a pleasure to meet you." Alfred gave a boisterous laugh and shook his head. "You're British! Hey, no need to be so formal. We're going to be neighbors, after all!" Then he whistled, and the dog that'd been barking sauntered toward them. "I'm Alfred Jones, and this here is Captain, my dog. He's a golden retriever."

The newly named Captain yipped, as if proud that he were being talked of and padded around Arthur, giving him a couple of sniffs for good measure. Alfred laughed again. "He likes you already."

"That's… uh, that's nice. I'm Arthur Kirkland. And yes, I'm British. Is… is there something the matter with that?" He was having trouble talking, why-. Alfred looked taken aback. The American shook his head a couple of times, throwing in a 'no, no!' to make his point clearest.

"Not at all, Arthur! I was just super surprised, you know? This is the Redneck Belt." And just then he seemed to realize that he was without top, and muttered an apology, promising he'd just gotten back from the car shop and was getting ready to mow when he saw Arthur. Captain bored of this and trotted away, and Arthur contemplated following him.

But he didn't, instead replying with; "It's alright. I understand. Oh…" Now it was his turn to realize something: that he'd completely forgotten to bring his own mower from the garage. Alfred blinked, taking note of his reply with a confused noise.

"Hm, is something wrong-?" The American asked, tilting his head at the Brit. Arthur ground his heel into the dirt. "I- nothing. Just the fact that my yard is an actual jungle and I forgot to bring my mower."

He suspected Alfred would give him an incredulous look, but he only smiled obligingly and motioned toward his mower. "Well, I can do your lawn, then mow mine tomorrow. It'll be fine, I promise! Don't look at me like that."

Arthur had began to protest but was quieted by Alfred's follow-up laugh. "M-... I'll do it myself, please-" "No, Arthur, we're neighbors. Just accept already, alright? Now get inside your house and finish setting up unless you want your _lovely _shirt to be ruined." He motioned toward Arthur's tee- a very stylish one with 'THE CURE' scribbled across it.

Arthur complied readily, promising he'd scrape together a few bucks and a drink or something for Alfred's trouble. He was drowned out by the revving of the engine and a few panicked barks.

-skip-

Though he'd taken Alfred's advice and was putting books up on the shelves, he often found himself turning to the window and watching the American at his work. Oh, how he admired the way his muscles rippled under tanned skin, the way his mouth would twist in a little grin whenever Captain ran behind, trying to bat at the grass that flew from the mower. The dog had gotten a few mild injuries from the grass, however, and soon stopped, only barking from a safe distance.

No, he told himself - he was _not _thinking about how delicious it would be to lightly rake his nails over that perfect, sunkissed skin while Alfred murmured sweet nothings agains- oh shit oh shit no-! He'd just met the man and was already shamelessly fantasizing.

How nice for the lucky arse.

The sudden quiet snapped him out of his thoughts. Alfred was striding up the path, whistling cheerily. Arthur took a long breath and opened the door, murmuring a very heartfelt thank-you.

"Aw," Alfred replied; "you shouldn't thank me! You're totally cute. Of course I'd do it- uh, that, and you're my neighbor, o-of course!" Arthur raised an eyebrow, trying very hard to look serious and somewhat taken aback.

But in truth, he was quite the opposite. His hot American neighbor was complimenting him. Why the long face? But of course, he wouldn't let Alfred know that easily. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that last part." He laughed, although his cheeks were quite pink.

Alfred just laughed, all sheepish and peeped over Arthur's head for his promised lemonade. The Briton remembered that and dashed inside, returning with a glass of said liquid. He peers around Alfred, at the yard, and is satisfied with his work. It looks as if it's been given a buzz cut, but before he can say that Alfred takes a long breath and sighs.

"That lemonade is damn good. Did you make it?" He replied nicely- "Yes, I made it. Also cookies. Would you want some?" He is met with an enthusiastic 'yes' from the other blond, and dashes inside, only to reappear with said cookies.

They were a sorry affair, too brown and somewhat wet looking. But Alfred grabbed two and gulped them down, just reaching for a third and fourth when he froze. Arthur noted he looked green, and with some difficulty got him to drink some of the lemonade to wash it down.

"Hoo!" He said at last, sitting down on the front step with Arthur and leaning wearily on the doorframe. "That's one... Intense cookie." No doubt he was going to say something else, but he kept his comments to himself and instead focused on the lemonade.

Arthur gave a dry laugh and threaded his fingers together. "I can't cook. I'm sorry."

This spurred a conversation about themselves, each delving into slightly embarrassing topics about their family, but it felt nice, almost as if they were good friends already.

Arthur noticed that Alfred stayed away from the plate whenever Arthur would nibble on the end of his creation, instead pointing out some nice fact about 'good ole Bamham' in that damn accent of his.

The Brit once or twice tried to imitate it, but got nowhere. Alfred, meanwhile, turned his nose up and mimed a very indignant British gentleman.

At last, it was dark, and Alfred retreated to his house after shaking Arthur's hand firmly and drawling that he'd see him tomorrow.

If the Brit had seen right, Alfred had winked, pleasant crinkles at his eyes and cheeks. Or had he just imagined it...? Well,whatever it was, Arthur liked the feeling it put into his chest.

He couldn't help but look forward to the next day.

-to be continued-

La Kirk: I do apologize for the awkwardness of this chapter. ;u; I haven't written in a long time. Despite that, I hope you enjoyed! Please review- it does make me ever so happy. If there are any tips you have, as well,please give those to me too! [Hearts] See you in the next chapter!


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